


Went Too Far Interludes

by fuzipenguin



Series: Crossing Lines [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Introspection, M/M, Other, Rape Aftermath, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:18:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pieces from the Went Too Far 'verse that never made it into the main work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captured - Sideswipe

**Author's Note:**

> The original work is very dark with mentions and depictions of torture and rape. Not all the interludes will include these activities, but most will reference them.

                Lots of mechs think that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are fearless. That they have to be to eagerly charge into each and every skirmish, weapons drawn and grins on their faceplates.

                And in regards to battle, those mechs would be right. They don’t feel fear for themselves – what’s the point? They know who they are, they know _what_ they are, and where they are in the Autobot army. They serve a purpose, but their deaths are not going to cripple the Autobots. 

                They don’t feel fear for each other either, which confuses many a mech. How could they not fear for their very own spark twin? Again – what’s the point? They’re skilled and capable. They know what they are doing, how to do it, and they know their limits, even if some would say they didn’t.

                (Outside of battle, on the medbay floor, however, there is fear. Overwhelming, spark-crippling fear for one another. But very few are witness to that, and those that do keep it to themselves.)

                They don’t feel fear for their comrades. They could; they’ve thought about it on occasion. They like the mechs they fight alongside and live alongside.  But if they feared for their colleagues and friends in battle, they couldn’t properly fight for them, protect them. And while very few are as good at what they do as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, most of the mechs in the Autobot army are competent enough by this point to take care of themselves. And those that are not as capable aren’t exposed to the dangers of battle.

                Which is why, right now, Sideswipe is utterly terrified.

                He knows Ratchet has been captured once or twice before, knows about the standing ‘Capture Only’ bounty on the CMO’s head. It makes sense. Ratchet’s skills as a medic are well known as well as his penchant for treating mechs regardless of their insignia. It would be a win-win for the Decepticons to capture Ratchet – they would get good medical care for the brief time that they had him and the Autobots would trade near anything for his return.

                It’s one of the main reasons that Ratchet rarely ever steps onto the battlefield if Prowl can help it. Ratchet’s skills are too valuable to be lost for any amount of time, and the price paid to return him would be so high that great care is taken to keep him protected.

                Ratchet is also part of the command faction. He knows things. Things that a simple grunt like Sideswipe wouldn’t know. Things that Ratchet wouldn’t ever willingly give up to the Decepticons, but the bounty is ‘Capture Only’, not ‘Do not Torture’.

                So when Ratchet is captured with him, Sideswipe begins to feel the first niggling of worry in his spark. Not for himself, oh no; he’s been through this more times than he can count. Sideswipe’s worried for Ratchet. He’s worried about the ways they can hurt Ratchet, about the ways they can hurt Sideswipe. Because there’s something between the three of them: between Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Ratchet. Some nebulous thing that none of them can name or describe, but something strong enough that Ratchet might blurt out something he shouldn’t if Sideswipe were hurt badly enough in front of him.

                But Ratchet knows every inch of his frame, every in and out of his systems; Sideswipe trusts the medic to recognize a stall tactic versus true distress. So Sideswipe does his best to irritate and annoy their capturers, to swing their focus towards him. Sideswipe doubts the Decepticons will be satisfied with him for long, but he hopes it gives them time for Optimus and Prowl to contact Megatron and begin trade arrangements.

                The worry insidiously slides into anxiety when they poke and prod at him for several minutes and then shove him behind some energy bars. When they turn their attention on Ratchet, it’s like a herd of Earth wolves circling their intended prey. Megatron is the worst: optics burning and lipplates curved in a gentle smile. It sends chills down Sideswipe’s backstruts. And when the first punch lands with nary a question about Autobot tactics or provisions, Sideswipe remembers what true fear feels like.

 


	2. Balanced (Prowl)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding a balance is (un)surprisingly hard this time around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been struggling with Prowl's piece for a while. In Went Too Far, I think he came across as one of the most... cautionary... characters, especially in comparison to Jazz. I really wanted a little something explaining how his processor was working during the Incident, so here it is.

                Prowl is quite fond of Jazz, he really is. Prowl has to be, to allow Jazz to follow alongside and jabber incessantly about anything and everything that crosses his processor.

                Currently, Jazz is chattering, rather like an angry Earth squirrel Prowl thinks, about Optimus’ decision regarding negotiations with the Decepticons. This is the fourth ‘conversation’ that Jazz has had with Prowl about it, and Prowl is becoming a little weary with hearing the same things over and over. At this point, Prowl would rather like to turn off the sensors in a door panel and slap Jazz upside the head to quiet him. But Prowl’s sensory wing would probably suffer far worse damage than Jazz’s hard helm.

                Jazz is furious, Prowl knows. Many of the Ark inhabitants are. If he must be honest with himself, and Prowl usually is, he too had been rather disturbed at Ratchet’s condition upon his return. And Prowl’s unease had only deepened upon witnessing Sideswipe’s quiet breakdown within the circle of Sunstreaker’s arms.

                Prowl does not emote with the same intensity as Jazz or many other Autobots do, but that does not mean that Prowl does not feel. He does and deeply. In fact, Prowl has been struggling these past few days; fighting to find a balance between his processor and his spark. He wants justice for the atrocities committed to Ratchet; but is justice worth the price of more injuries and death? If they launch an attack on the Nemesis, who would be injured? Whose graying frame would they have to bring home and mourn? His logistics program indicates at least a 90% likelihood of 15% casualties.

                Prowl cannot bring himself to accept those numbers; not this time.

                Perhaps that is the problem, Prowl muses. He has grown too fond of those mechs serving beneath and around him. Too fond of Jazz, of Ratchet, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, of Bluestreak... to lose any of them is unthinkable.

                His spark wants vengeance, just as Jazz’s does, but his processor warns caution. Maybe too much caution, the part of his processor that sounds irritatingly like Jazz says. Few battles end without death or injury; that is the reality of war.

                So Prowl continues to listen to Jazz, to Smokescreen, to anyone who speaks to him and those he overhears. Maybe someone else will be able to see something that Prowl has overlooked. And while he listens and repeatedly runs the numbers, he is tightening the hold on his spark, micrometer by micrometer, in preparation for the next loss.

 


	3. Exploded - Wheeljack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheeljack doesn't anger easily. But somethings even he can't forgive.

             When the call comes, Wheeljack’s puttering around his lab, aimlessly picking things up and turning them around in his hands before putting them back down, no project able to catch his interest.

**Wheeljack, Perceptor – please report to the Medical Bay immediately. Jazz is enroute; he reports significant, although non-lethal, injuries to both Ratchet and Sideswipe.**

             Wheeljack stands at attention when Prowl’s request for communication comes through; by the time the 2IC is finished speaking, Wheeljack is slumped against the counter he had been closest to.

 **Roger that, Prowl. On my way,** Wheeljack replies, somehow managing to stay professional.

             He should race out of his lab as if his aft were on fire, but he doesn’t. Instead, he closes his optics and takes in a large draught of air, letting it fill his ventilation systems. He has to be calm. And he has to _stay_ calm. He owes it to Ratchet, but Wheeljack’s quaking inside. He’s honestly a little terrified of what he’s going to see when he walks into the MedBay. Especially since Prowl called in both Wheeljack and Perceptor on top of First Aid.

             He doesn’t know how Ratchet does it day in and day out – repairing repeat grievous injuries on the same soldiers. Mechs who Ratchet has become almost as close to as he is to Wheeljack: Optimus, Ironhide, and the twins to name a few.

             Wheeljack lends a hand in MedBay when he has to, but he doesn’t like it. And he really hates it when it’s Ratchet lying there on a medical berth. It’s only happened twice before and within hours, Ratchet had been up and terrorizing the rest of his staff. But Wheeljack instinctively knows this is going to be much worse than those other times.

             He slowly blows the draught of air back out. Ratchet is counting on him and so is the apprentice medic who is right now probably pacing Medical, just as terrified as Wheeljack is.

             Maybe together they can get through this.

\--

             Wheeljack enters the Medical Bay, braced to see the worst. What he sees are First Aid’s and Perceptor’s helms whipping around to stare at him. The Bay is otherwise empty and quiet.

             “Not here yet, huh?” Wheeljack remarks wryly. He’s calmed a little on the jog in, although his spark rate hadn’t dropped back into the normal range since Prowl had called.

              First Aid’s shoulders slump. “No. Not yet. I have everything out that I could think of; I was just asking Perceptor if there was anything else he recommended.”

              Wheeljack looks over the collection of scanners, medical grade energon with associated delivery lines, and pain blocks. He shakes his head. “Until we know more, I think you’ve got it all covered, kid,” he says. Perceptor nods his head along with Wheeljack’s words.

              “Prowl didn’t give me very much to go on,” First Aid says, beginning to pace around a medical berth. “You?”

              “Only that their injuries were non-fatal, but serious. Not unexpected with Sideswipe, but Ratchet…”

              “I know! What could have happened?” First Aid exclaims nervously.

              “I am not sure, but I…” Perceptor is cut off as the Medical Bay doors are suddenly slammed open. Jazz and Optimus hold a door a piece as Sideswipe rushes in, carrying Ratchet’s limp frame. Sunstreaker is nearly glued to his twin’s backplate, hands hovering.

              Sideswipe pauses in his momentum and glances around, optics dim and flickering. He finds and zeroes in on First Aid, stepping forward and hefting Ratchet a little more securely in his arms. Optimus follows behind the twins while Jazz closes the doors firmly behind him, raising his voice to answer an unseen mech’s query.

              “Where…?”

              “Here!” First Aid says briskly. “Put him right here,” he repeats, gesturing towards the table next to him. As one, Wheeljack and Perceptor move to meet Sideswipe, and together, all three of them lift and arrange Ratchet on the med berth.

              “Oh, my Primus,” First Aid murmurs softly as they take a step back. He snatches the nearest scanner and begins running it over Ratchet’s prone frame. Wheeljack can only agree with First Aid’s statement, standing frozen as he stares the wreck of his best friend lying in front of him.

              This is much worse than he expected… so many more injuries than he has ever seen Ratchet have at one time.

              “Perceptor – set up a fuel drip in the jugular line,” First Aid instructed. “Twice maintenance rate for now.”

              Perceptor nods briskly. “Yes, of course,” he replies, already moving before the medic even stops speaking.

              “Wheeljack, I’ll need you to help me remove some of this plating,” First Aid adds, but he sounds as if he is far away, and all Wheeljack can see is Ratchet’s blackened orbital sockets. “…-jack… _Wheeljack_ , did you hear me?”

              Jolting at First Aid’s crisp question, Wheeljack nods frantically, his spark spinning nearly out of control. He leaps to the end of the berth to move around it and almost collides with Sideswipe.

             “Sorry, Sides… oh frag, Sideswipe!” The frontliner takes a step backwards to avoid Wheeljack and stumbles, nearly collapsing. Sunstreaker darts forward at the same time and catches his brother under the arms. Wheeljack makes a motion to help support the warrior’s frame, but he yanks his hands back at the last second, horrified at the still smoldering burns decorating Sideswipe’s chestplate. How had the warrior managed to carry Ratchet like that?

             “Main systems up and operational, fuel reserves at 18%,” First Aid announces absently. “Wheeljack, maybe it would be better if you took Sideswipe into one of the other rooms and begin his assessment there. Perceptor…”

             “Line placed,” the scientist announces. “I’m adding pain blocks now.”

             “Good,” First Aid says, hands roving over Ratchet’s frame to delve into cavities behind mangled plating. “Get me that neutralizer solution next; there’s some type of acid in the optic channels, and I don’t want it eating any further.”

             “Magnesium phosphate,” Sideswipe says faintly, leaving heavily against his twin, “in the optics.”

             First Aid’s fingers still, his helm darting up to stare at Sideswipe. “Any other pertinent information would be helpful, Wheeljack,” he says quietly, his gaze flicking over to the engineer.

            “Got it,” Wheeljack replies, nodding quickly. Shame runs through his lines at how he had frozen just moments before. But he is determined to redeem himself. Ratchet isn’t the only injured one.

              “Sunstreaker, room 3,” Wheeljack says, pointing at the closest open private room. Sunstreaker directs his twin towards the door, Optimus hurrying over and opening it for them.

                Wheeljack takes another quick moment to just ventilate. He has a feeling that this is going to be a very long day.

\--

                Wheeljack isn’t a hateful mech by nature. Despite everything he’s seen and lived through during the war, he can usually find a glimmer of light somewhere. But this incident has severely tested that personality quirk.

                It begins with Sideswipe.

                His first instinct is to stride forward and slap the warrior across the face as soon as he admits to raping Ratchet. It certainly helps that Sunstreaker is there, belligerently glaring at both Optimus and Wheeljack, as if daring either of them to even come close to his brother.

                But it’s a short-lived instinct anyway. Sideswipe is obviously distraught about his actions, and Wheeljack knows Sideswipe only did it to buy them time and to try to prevent something worse. Wheeljack doubts Sideswipe’s penetration injured Ratchet anywhere as badly as the multitude of Decepticons who used him. Or if at all, knowing how much the twins and Ratchet cared for one another.

                Yet Wheeljack is filled with relief that Sideswipe had declined medical care, insisting Wheeljack listen first to what the Decepticons had done in case any of the information could help direct Ratchet’s treatment. Sideswipe’s hurting, but Wheeljack just can’t stand to touch him right now.

                A few hours later, after Ratchet has come out of surgery, it suddenly hits Wheeljack. What would he have done if it had been him in Sideswipe’s place? What horrible act would Wheeljack have perpetrated to save Ratchet’s life even if it meant him hating Wheeljack for the rest of their lives?

                As soon as he thinks that, he rushes off to Sideswipe’s room. He peeks in to see the warrior curled up on the medical berth, Sunstreaker sitting in a chair at his side. The golden twin meets Wheeljack’s optics; the look of despair in that indigo gaze makes Wheeljack’s vents catch.

                “Is he alright?” Wheeljack whispers, not wanting to disturb Sideswipe’s slumber. Although judging by the amount of twitching he’s doing, it’s not a restful recharge.

                “No,” Sunstreaker bluntly replies. “How’s Ratchet?”

                “He’s going to be ok. First Aid could tell ya better than I could, but he’s out of danger at least. We still have to work on stifle joints and optics, but after that it’s just cosmetic,” Wheeljack explains, shuddering at the memory of the condition of Ratchet’s knees.

                Sunstreaker’s shoulders slump, just a little. “Good. That’s… good.”

                The warrior turns to gaze at his twin, looking so dejected that Wheeljack has to fight the urge to comfort him physically. But that’s a good way to lose a hand unless you’re Sideswipe.

                 Or Ratchet.

                “I could take a look at him now,” Wheeljack offers. “First Aid is finishing up with Ratchet, but I wasn’t needed for recovery, so…”

                “You got something for sparkbreak?” Sunstreaker grunts, looking sidelong at Wheeljack.

                “Uh… no, unfortunately. But I could do something for those burns, at least.” Wheeljack is a little lost. He’s never heard Sunstreaker ever admit to the actual existence of emotions before.

                “Not gonna do much good if he decides to turn a blaster on his own spark,” Sunstreaker says softly. He reaches out and lays a hand on Sideswipe’s ankle when he gives a particularly violent jerk in his sleep.

                Wheeljack stares at the twins, optics wide. “Ya think… ya think he would actually do that?” he asks, wondering if Smokescreen had had the opportunity yet to come down and speak with Sideswipe.

                “He’s considered it. He’s been doing a slag job of blocking me out, and I’ve caught the thought a few times. He keeps convincing himself not to though, ‘cause of me. If it was just him, I think he would have offed himself as soon as he transferred Ratchet over to First Aid,” Sunstreaker says, voice oddly flat. “It’s like Megatron replaced his spark with someone else’s while they were there. He’s so twisted up inside, I barely recognize him.”

                And there goes any lingering resentment Wheeljack had against Sideswipe. The warrior is always so full of life that the idea of Sideswipe committing suicide is as foreign as the idea of Ratchet going on a killing spree on the battlefield.

                “What would ya like me to do?” Wheeljack asks after several moments of silence. He’s not sure what else to say, although the anger he had experienced earlier is starting to build again. But this time, it has another target.

                Sunstreaker sighs. “Just leave him be for now. His self-repair is working somewhat, but one of you guys are gonna have to do something about those burns eventually. I know he said he didn’t want to be treated, but I’ll keep working on him. If nothing else, I’ll knock him out when he’s not looking.”

                Ah, Sunstreaker… ever practical.

                “All right. Call for one of us if ya need something. Hoist will be taking over for First Aid once he goes off duty, and I’ll be in my lab,” Wheeljack explains.

                “You should get some rest too,” Sunstreaker says, looking up at him. Wheeljack is a little shocked to see concern in Sunstreaker’s gaze. He and the twins don’t normally associate, although they’ve never had an issue with one another. Yet it’s still surprising for Sunstreaker to be worrying over _him_.

                “I will. I just have a new project. A little present for the Decepticons next time we see ‘em,” Wheeljack replies nonchalantly.

                Sunstreaker’s optics take on an appreciative gleam. “Will it be explosively good?”

                “Maybe. When Sideswipe is feeling better, do ya think ya could ask him for a list of those Decepticons who hurt Ratchet?” Wheeljack asks, processor already awhirl with blueprints. This anger is slow burning, pervasive… it will carry him through several long nights of work, because he suspects that is what he will need for this project.

                “Oh, trust me, I will. Thanks, ‘jack.”

                Wheeljack nods and leaves the room, although he doesn’t know what Sunstreaker is thanking him for. Wheeljack honestly hasn’t done all that much note-worthy today. But, oh, he has plans that’s going to change that.

 

~ End


End file.
